


Clouds of Steam

by LuxaLucifer



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Hot Springs & Onsen, M/M, blowjob, description of scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many people spoke of Himring for many reasons. Fingon thought of it only for the Elf who ruled it. Maedhros/Fingon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds of Steam

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW, a fic for the Ardor in August fic exchange. Hope it's decent! My prompts were Maedhros/Fingon and any rating up to Explicit, so here we are.

“He’s at the hot springs.”

Many people spoke of Himring for many reasons. They spoke with awe of how Maedhros had defended from the spawn of Morgoth, how his shining helm and keen blade could be seen as he plunged his weapon into orc after orc. How the enemy fear the fortress on the hill. How the bitter winds whipped through the high walls and yet did little to bend the spirits of the people within.

No one talked about the natural hot springs, which Fingon thought was a tragedy. Perhaps more Elves would consider making the great hill their summer travel destination if they knew about the beautiful bubbling waters hidden in the many small hills surrounding Himring.

Fingon knew exactly where the Elf he was looking for would be. It was a short ride there. Despite the many miles behind him already, Fingon didn’t mind the extra minutes on the back of his steed. He wanted to see Maedhros more than anything, enough that his chest ached and his mind searched for the familiar touch of the one he loved.

He left his horse in capable hands at the small stables near the springs and hurried down the path. The ground was hard and packed here, so different than his own land, the sparse vegetation working hard to push its way through the soil.

Clouds of steam billowed around Fingon as he approached the pool. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he ignored it.

“Maedhros,” he called, squinting through the steam.

“I’m here,” came the response, his cousin’s deep voice resonating through the air. It was hoarse and cracked now, so different from their childhood, but it was his voice, and it made Fingon’s heart leap at the sound.

Fingon followed the sound of his voice and grinned at the sight of the Elf he was looking for. Maedhros was lounging in the hot springs, arms spread out above the pool on the ground with his torso submerged in water. His eyes were shut, his hair piled above his head in a messy bun, revealing his cut and mangled ears. A smile spread across his face as Fingon approached.

Maedhro’s body was bared for Fingon to see, every scar, burn and brand visible. It was a privilege to see this, a sign of ultimate trust (even if it still made his chest ache after all this time). Maedhros’s chest was a battleground of its own, so scarred that no hint of his original skin was visible, muscle rippling under layers of deformed tissue when he lifted his arm to greet Fingon.

“Long journey?” he asked.

“Worth it, to find you here at the end.”

Maedhros chuckled, something he didn’t do much anymore. He hadn’t lost his humor, not by a long shot, but the noise that came out of his throat when he laughed was not the same as it had once been, and he did not like to laugh at the expense of others’ comfort. It saddened Fingon, as did much that Maedhros had given up. He tried not to think about it.

“Join me in the water,” Maedhros said, eyes roaming Fingon’s body. “You can relax, get clean. You’ll feel better.”

“Is that all you want?” said Fingon, unable to stop a grin as he unbuckled his belt. He pulled his traveling tunic over his head and divested himself of his pants with a little awkward shimmying. Maedhros shook his head, smiling as Fingon demonstrated his agility.

“You sure you want me in the water with you?” said Fingon, throwing his arms out for inspection. “Look at me. I’m filthy.”

“Not yet you aren’t,” said Maedhros with a wicked grin.

“Oh, is that how it’s going to be?”

Fingon got down and dipped his legs into the hot springs, sighing at the heat. The water felt good on his tired limbs and he slid the rest of the way into the pool. He reached for the soap that Maedhros kept by the side, knowing to reach for the less coarse of the two. Maedhros had peculiarities. Fingon didn’t blame him.

The water was almost too hot. His (not his, but he liked to pretend there weren’t so many leagues between them from day to day) Russandol often picked springs that were usually avoided for some reason or another. Sometimes the springs he picked were far out of the way. Sometimes he picked the waters that nearly scalded those that dared their waters. Maedhros didn’t mind the heat; his fear of burns had been wrung out of him long ago.

“Does the water feel good?” asked Maedhros as Fingon began to scrub the worst of the dirt from himself. “I hope it’s not too much for you.”

“I can deal with the heat,” he said. “It’s making my soreness just fade away. Trust you to know how to make me forget that journey so quickly.”

“I like this place,” Maedhros said. “I don’t switch springs as much. This one seems to do the best for the pain.”

That his love had chronic pain always stung, because had he not been through enough? Was the torment really not enough, the way Morgoth had brutalized one of the strongest Eldar until he had begged for mercy, for relief from his misery in the most final of ways? Why must he carry the burden of that pain with him still…Fingon shook his head and dismissed the thoughts. Such a morose line of thinking only led to dark places. True places, but dark. Maedhros lived still, and he was strong, and Fingon hoped he was happy.

“Can I kiss you?” asked Fingon softly.

Maedhros’s eyes flicked to his face, a small smile so much gentler than the ones from earlier, still distorted by scars but the sentiment strong enough to carry his expression through. “Yes,” said the redheaded Elf. “Kiss me.”

Fingon bridged the space between them and reached for Maedhros, hand settling in his hair, damp from steam, and pressing his lips to the other’s. When they had been young Maedhros had been gentle in kissing, letting Fingon take charge. Now he kissed back fiercely, teeth clacking painfully for a moment before they found their rhythm, Maedhros wrapping his right arm around Fingon’s waist so he was close enough that their chests touched. He was warm to the touch, the scars rough against Fingon’s skin.

Water sloshed as Fingon’s other hand trailed up Maedhros’s chest, careful to avoid the slashing scar when he reached his throat. He’d made that mistake before. Their kiss was long and almost frantic in their need for each other, gasping for breath when they’d pull back only to explore each others’ mouths, Maedhros’s hand gripping Fingon’s hair as his panting became throatier, eyelids fluttering shut as the intensity overwhelmed him.

“Shit,” murmured Maedhros. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you.”

Maedhros began attempting to undo Fingon’s braids, of all things. His absentminded one-handed attempts would never result in anything, and Fingon chuckled, pressing kisses to his cheek. “You need me?”

“Yes,” rasped Maedhros. “In any way you want me.”

“I think I’d prefer a bed for that,” said Fingon. “For the full thing…but if you sit on the edge of the pool we’ll see what I can do.”

Maedhros pulled himself up onto the edge of the pool, not reacting to leaving the heat. His long legs still dangled in the water, and as Fingon approached he spread them, realizing what Fingon was planning.

Fingon’s hands ran up and down Maedhros’s scarred thighs as he leaned down in the water. Maedhros was already half hard, and Fingon’s palm went from leg to groin as he wrapped his fingers around his cock. “Is this what you had in mind?”

He could feel Maedhros stiffen in his hand and used water from the pool to help slide his hand along the length. He couldn’t kiss him at this angle, so Fingon pressed his lips to his chest instead, up and down the scars, avoiding the ones he knew were sensitive, rubbing his thumb over the deeply carved crest of F _ëanor, over the burns and the lashes until Maedhros was trembling from his touch, the steam billowing around them no longer the only cause of the sweat on his forehead._

 _“Findek_ áno,” he murmured. “Please…”

That was all it took. Fingon opened his hand and sunk lower in the water, guiding Maedhros’s cock into his mouth. He took Maedhros’s balls in his hand and played with them, massaging and pulling in just the right way as his lips stretched to take Maedhros in. He ran his tongue along one of his veins, delighting in the shiver that resulted.

Fingon wasn’t much for the slow approach and hollowed out his cheeks, moving his other hand to grip the base of his shaft as he pulled back so he could lave the head of his cock with his tongue, this time following a lengthy scar down. He brushed his lips against his head gently with no response. Gauging that some of the nerves here were dead, he did it again, this time with a little more force. Maedhros let out his first sound, a loud drawn out moan.

The Lord of Himring threw back his head and let out another moan, his cock hard and red, straining at the air. Fingon wrapped his mouth around it again, pushing it into the tight wetness of his throat. He hummed as he did so, and Maedhros’s legs tightened around the edge of the pool.

“Káno,” came a cracked, broken voice, one with no careful control or attempt to hide the way he sounded. “Please, Káno, I’m going to…”

Fingon couldn’t say good, so he edged in deeper until his cock hit the back of his throat, the blunt head pressing in, and tugged ever so gently on his balls. A loud guttural cry tore from Maedhros, so loud any nearby attendants would have to pretend not to hear it, and his cock swelled around Fingon’s lips. Maedhros came hard in his mouth, and Fingon swallowed as much as he could, pulling back to let his come trickle down is chin.

“What was that joke you said about me getting filthy earlier?” he said, grinning as Maedhros’s pants began to soften in intensity, his own throat hoarse for once, although not nearly as bad as the other’s.

“I wasn’t joking,” said Maedhros, sliding back into the pool, sighing as the tension was pulled from his muscles. Fingon briefly wondered if this was the only relief he got. “Look at you, you’re filthy, right? Valar, you should see your teeth.”

Fingon flicked some water at him, although the fun was taken out of it when Maedhros didn’t even blink. “You look good, you know.”

“Oh?” said Maedhros. “I didn’t know I could.”

“That messy bun…it gets me hot just thinking about it. If you kept that bun up for the rest of the day-”

“That would be very unprofessional of me,” interrupted Maedhros, expressionless.

“It would be,” said Fingon. “I think you should do it. It would be very cute.”

“You know,” said Maedhros, changing the subject. “I didn’t return the favor. Do you want some help?” He gestured to Fingon’s groin, which, while under the water, showed his clear signs of arousal.

“Tonight,” said Fingon. “If you’d like. With your hair like that.”

“Do I really look so good?”

“To me? Always. But yes. You do.” Fingon wiped his mouth and closed the space between them. Maedhros wrapped his right arm around him, confident that Fingon wouldn’t flinch as the stump of his arm brushed his shoulder. Fingon didn’t, and he never would. He put his head on Maedhros’s shoulder, enjoying the closeness after so long apart.

“I’ll humor you,” said Maedhros softly. “I’ll leave it up. You do say it looks good, after all.”

If you listened, the hot springs bubbled and gurgled like a creature of their own, as through it was some sentient thing that allowed them the privilege of resting in it. Fingon listened, content, and knew Maedhros was doing the same.


End file.
